After All This Time
by Phantahelix
Summary: Oneshot: Ginny and Harry's wedding night. There are some unwanted memories haunting this marriage bed. A certain Dark Lord, for example.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own the Harry Potter series. I'm not making any money, etc.

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Finally, after so many years of secluding her thoughts to the passages of her mind, Ginny could finally open up once more. She could volunteer unlikely wisdom, share bizarre dreams, and every once and a while say something stupid with the confidence that all blunders would be forgiven sooner or later. Such were the benefits of a lover. She could pour her heart and soul into this boy: dark hair, cautious eyes, pale complexion, nimble fingers.

And a lightning scar on his forehead. Yes, that was the most important part. The scar made all the difference.

Finally, finally, finally. Ginny got to wear her mother's old dress (not without extensive tailoring.) She got to beam under the attention of Fleur and Hermione as they fiddled with her hair. She got to be the most beautiful woman in the world for a day, and a day was enough. Ginny got to change her last name. Ginevra Potter: what a beautiful sound.

They were on their honeymoon. Finally.

Ginny stared out the window of their suite, chin in hand, watching clouds sail over the Eiffel Tower with a contented expression. It was a perfect end to a perfect day, she thought. The perfect end to a perfect day in one of the most perfect years of her life. It was nice not to worry, whether that worry was for dark forces, or term papers, or familial drama.

Wind fluttered in from the half open window, carrying a warm cinnamon and bread smell that wafted from the street below. The breeze played with her hair, so very warm. Oh, what a beautiful night.

A pair of arms wrapped around her shoulders, firm and comforting, and Ginny could feel breath nudging at her neck. Lips nibbled on the shell of her ear, and sent tingly shivers down her neck. "Harry, what on Earth are you doing?"

"Mmm, just…wondering how I managed to snatch the most beautiful woman in the world away from the claws of better men and then convince her to be my wife."

Ginny leaned back into Harry's shoulder, closed her eyes and smiled the tiniest bit. "Oh, I suppose the same way you managed to kill the world's darkest wizard."

"Dumb luck?"

Ginny tilted her head until she was looking at her husband upside down. Harry had missed a spot under his chin while he was shaving. She covered his mouth with her slender hands and looked very seriously up at him. "Fate, Harry."

For the longest time, the couple said nothing, lost in each other and in the memories of their bumpy beginning as a pair. It had been so exciting and scary starting out, and the thrill of young love, fueled by teen angst and hormones, had rocketed them through the reality of probable destruction. Then things had become more tamed, more mature, in the aftermath of the Second Wizard War. When she missed Fred, and George was missing in action, she turned to Harry. When Mrs. Weasley broke down crying as she fed little Victoire in the kitchen at Shell Cottage, Harry was there beside her. When Teddy Lupin was old enough to start asking about his parents, Harry helped her navigate the dangerous waters of the child's psyche.

"Fate," Harry repeated after her. His voice was laced with a strangled urge, haunting and tempting. His eyes roved over her face, scorching. "I can believe that."

Ginny understood her husband's wordless cue, and she stood, taking his hands. "You better believe it," she teased, leading him across the room, past the bank of windows overlooking the Paris skyline, past the squashy loveseat in the shape of a heart, past the little trinkets sitting on the mantle over the suite fireplace.

To the king-size bed, where they fell into each other, gravitated.

It was a gradual thing, like peeling off a bandage in reverse. Shoulder to collar bone. Chest to chest, and that's when sparks began to fly. Ribcage to ribcage.

The sheets were a lovely, silky cliché, in colors of gold and silver, blue and black: the colors of the Hogwarts houses, but perhaps not on purpose. Ginny cared little about it. She was a bit distracted. Her thoughts lingered on it only because the smooth fabric felt heavenly on her bare back. In passing she decided to invest some of their wedding money in silk sheets like these.

Oh, but this making of love was new to her. When she was little she always wondered about the abstract things: With who? And where? And for God's sake _when_?

_Well_, she told her younger self. _With Harry, here in Paris, right now at this very moment. And believe me child, it's worth the wait._

The abstract also, didn't matter much to Ginny in that delicate, quiet moment. She was more focused on the concrete, the existing and real and palpable and hearing-feeling-speaking-tasting sort of things.

One thing about snogging: It was nice, certainly. But it was just the cherry on top compared to everything else.

Then strangely enough, Ginny began to think of babies, and not just in passing. The thought consumed her, like Harry. What would they look like? What would they say and think? Would they be good or evil? Thick or dead clever?

Would they make her mistakes?

Then horribly, terribly, her thoughts zoomed so far into the past that it almost gave her whiplash. She gasped, but luckily Harry took it in context and he didn't seem worried. If anything, he looked pleased with himself. What a _boy_.

And…what had she been so shocked by? She looked up into her husband's eyes, trying to remember, when her conscious grazed against a flash of something: dark eyes, a smile. Swooping ink letters faded and closed away in her trunk. A near palpable presence emanating from the school bag at her hip.

_Him._

And with the realization came the satisfaction of flesh that she had never known, and Ginny Weasley had a hard time seeing anything but her husband's hazy wide eyes. It rushed at her and toyed with her and generally messed her up wonderfully.

There was something just at the edge of her lips. A word. Something. Anything to express the feeling that was so unique, like it had been invented for her and Harry. She felt like drowning-

"_Tom_."

Like magic, everything crashed to a halt: every positive feeling and every stupid conviction. Ginny wanted to cut her own throat when she saw the look on Harry's face. She sat up, jolted away like she had been struck, when in reality, Harry should have been the one flinching away. She tore the covers up around her and buried her face in her hands and gnawed on her tongue.

"Oh my God." It was all she could manage.

Silence. The worst kind of silence. Somewhere out there, the world was still turning.

A trembling hand took her shoulder. "Ginny, I-"

"You don't deserve this Harry. You really don't" The hand on her shoulder grew tight. Harry shuffled closer, on his knees, close enough to whisper tensely in her ear.

"You listen to me, Ginny Potter, and you listen _well_. There is _nothing_- Ginny, look at me when I say this."

Ginny lifted her head, lip quivering, and saw that her husband was not angry, nor frightened. He looked just like he had as he watched Voldemort's body tumble to the ground.

"Ginny, love, there is _nothing_ in this world, _nothing_- not magic or muggle- that could keep me away from you or make me love you less. It was a slip of the tongue, nothing more. It was unfortunate, yes, but not something we can change and not something that will change anything. And I completely understand, because that monster was a part of you for a long time, and maybe he isn't all the way gone yet. I don't care. You're mine, and not his, and nothing will ever change that."

"It's just," Ginny sniffled into the silk pooled around her knees. "How could this happen, after all this time. I thought it was gone. I mean, I haven't been strangling chickens lately, have I?" She laughed shakily.

Harry mustered a smile and wiped at a few tears on her cheek. "None that I've noticed."

The next silence was a bit more comfortable. "Oh, I've ruined everything, haven't I?

"On the contrary," Harry said. "It's _our_ honeymoon we're talking about. It wouldn't have been right if we didn't have a small disaster to cope with. That's us, Ginny. We thrive on it."

"Yes, I suppose we do."

The couple continued to make amends late into the night, and finally fell asleep curled up together in the love seat, gazing out into the city of romance. It was perfect, in its own way. Fitting for Potters. It would all heal up by the end of the week.

But needless to say, they kept their clothes on for quite a while afterward.


End file.
